


The End of all Things

by nellii



Series: The Last of Us AU [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Last of Us (Video Games) Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Clickers (The Last Of Us), Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Minor Body Horror, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Runners (The Last of Us), The Last of Us - Freeform, The Last of Us AU, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, ciri says fuck, the only characters that die so far are either not main characters or die in canon!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellii/pseuds/nellii
Summary: The world ended when Geralt lost his daughter. From then on he was thrown into a cold, violent post-apocalyptic Boston, forced to smuggle supplies in and out of a quarantine zone in order to stay afloat. Until a chance encounter with a young girl with a vital role in saving the world and a flirty musician give Geralt a new purpose- find a cure. Save the world. Protect his new family.-A Witcher Last of Us AU
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Past Geralt/Renfri, Implied Past Geralt/Yennefer
Series: The Last of Us AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881481
Comments: 27
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Last of Us AU which was the brainchild of Sunnie @beeruler on tumblr and they put up with me as I took over their DMs and wouldn't shut up about how much I love this AU. They're drawing companion art to this fic (but I think it's more like I'm writing companion fic to their art) so please give them a follow on tumblr and maybe even bookmark this fic!! <3

Cover art by the co-creator of this au, [Beeruler](https://beeruler.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!  
View the art [here](https://beeruler.tumblr.com/post/625458587222917120/the-last-of-us-au-no-one-asked-for-but-me-and) as well

* * *

Marilka stirred from her comfy spot curled up on the couch at the soft creak of the front door opening. The clock ticked steadily, a metronomical rhythm alongside her father’s hushed voice. 

“Esk- Eskel, I know,” Geralt murmured as he kicked off his boots, shut the door behind him. “Look can we just- can we talk about this in the morning? Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Esk.” A quiet click, and then Marilka was yawning and sitting up as warm lamplight pulled her from her sleep. She blinked, rubbing at her tired eyes with one palm as she smiled up at her father.  
“Hey,” she greeted sleepily, scooting over for him to collapse next to her, melting into the leather immediately and letting out a rough sigh. She knew that sigh meant it had been a long day at work. He worked hard to support them both, even though Marilka didn’t really understand what that meant beyond working so late she only saw him early in the morning the next day. She didn’t mind. She loved her dad more than anything. 

“It’s late,” he mumbled, rubbing his temple with one hand and fumbling for the remote with the other. “You should be in bed.”

Marilka shot up, all her exhaustion leaving her as she grabbed the back of the couch and looked up at the noisy clock. 11:45- not quite midnight. 

“It’s way past your bedtime.” Geralt said as Marilka plopped back down on the couch with a grin. 

“But it’s still today.” She said, swinging her legs and bouncing her heels off of the couch. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did’ya?” With newfound energy, Marilka burst off the couch and ducked to grab a plain white box she’d tucked underneath the couch. She’d collected five months worth of allowance and hid it in a cardboard box underneath her bed before she finally saved up enough. She ended up dragging uncle Eskel to the store to pick out something she knew would make her dad happy. He deserved something to make him smile. She saw him do so less and less these days. 

“Honey, please not right now.” He protested wearily, closing his eyes. “I do not have the energy for this.” But by the time he opened them again Marilka was sitting next to him, holding out the little white box clearly trying to hide her smile. 

With a huff, Geralt reached out and took the box. Marilka couldn’t really be sure in the low light, but she swore she could see the corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit. 

“What’s this?” He asked softly, turning it over in his hands. 

“For your birthday,” Marilka hummed. She sat back on her heels and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to open it. Waiting- or at least hoping- to see him smile. 

He didn’t disappoint. He popped open the white box, stared at the watch tucked inside, before allowing a smile to cross over his features. He took it from the box, wrapped it around his wrist with the care of setting a fragile glass photograph frame upon a high shelf. Like tucking away a beloved memory.

“Y’kept complaining about your broken watch,” Marilka explained. She was smiling too, now. A smile for his smile. “So I.. figured, y’know. Y’like it?”

Geralt was still staring down at the watch. She’d picked it out for the little wolf etching on the back, cut into the silver inlay. “Honey this is…” he shook his head softly, staring incredulously down at the watch. “This is nice but-” he tapped a knuckle at it’s glass, and his smile shifted into a sad frown. “I think it’s stuck, sweetheart, it’s not-”

“What?” Marilka’s voice faltered and she shot forward, taking her dad’s wrist in both hands, panicking. “Nonono- it-” but as she peered down at the watch hands, they were steadily ticking away sure as time itself. Realizing she’d been tricked, she shoved his hand away gently, shooting him a playful look. 

He _laughed_. It’d been so long since she heard him laugh. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” Marilka pouted, but she was still grinning as she let him go and went to lay down on the couch again. “It’s not very nice, givin’ your sweet daughter a heart attack like that.” 

Geralt just chuckled again and settled back. “Thank you, darling.” He told her as he settled back and grabbed the remote again. “Thank you.”

-

When Marilka finally fell back asleep, Geralt turned off the little light and the television. He scooped her up in his arms, her head tucked against his chest as he carried her up the stairs and laid her on her bed. Carefully, wary of waking her, he tucked her under the blue patchwork blanket that matched the pillows with big purple butterflies sewn on. He tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

She had her mother’s hair- a woman Geralt hadn’t seen since Marilka was a toddler. Marilka always teased him about his own long silvery hair, told him he looked like an old man and insisted on sitting him down and braiding it into delicate and intricate patterns. Anything to make his girl happy.

He’d sit through a thousand of those shitty Dawn of the Wolf movies, practice soccer every day with her just to see her happy. Buy a dozen books on the solar system, listen to all her pop CDs and sit patiently teaching her how to play his old guitar. He loved her. 

“Goodnight, baby girl.” 

-

Marilka’s eyes flicked open. The phone on her bedside table was buzzing incessantly- _Eskel_ the caller ID said. She sat up, blinking away sleep as she picked up the phone. Immediately, uncle Eskel’s voice burst through the line.

“Marilka, honey, I need you to get your daddy on the phone-” he spoke rapidly, out of breath. 

“Uncle Eskel?” The girl asked blearily. “What time is it?”

“I need to talk to your daddy right now there’s some-” the dial tone cut him off in the middle of his panic, and Marilka sat there stunned for a moment. What’d he need so late at night? What was so urgent? 

With a frown, she crawled out of bed and set the phone down. Dad would know what was going on. And- and she had no reason to be nervous, right? Cause he always kept her safe from the sort of scary stuff they saw on the news. Whatever the problem was, he’d watch out for his baby girl. She knew he would.

She walked as softly as she could as she ambled through the house. Something told her not to disturb the eerie silence that passed over her dark home. It felt too dark. A light at the end of the hall- just by the stairs- had Marilka picking up her pace, hoping her dad was up. 

“You in here?” She called cautiously as she pushed open the slightly ajar door, peering around at the messy, unmade bed and then at the television. It was set to the local news channel. Some woman with pretty hair was standing in front of a burning building. There were people rushing back and forth- _firemen_ , she told herself, but they didn’t look like firemen. Firemen didn’t carry guns. 

Marilka found herself watching the television screen intently. She was talking strangely, something about an infection. Like a virus, maybe? She got the flu once in fifth grade, it was real bad and her dad had her stay home from school for two weeks. The woman went on. Increased aggression, violence, affliction- Marilka knew what those words meant but it still didn’t make any sense. 

One of the firemen burst through the barrier behind the woman. The camera jerked slightly. The man was gesturing wildly, yelling for her to get out of the way, _get out of the way_ -!

A deafening boom shook the house, and Marilka cried out, hands flying to cover her ears. It felt like the very foundation of her home was rattling. She felt the reverberations shoot up her legs, her teeth vibrating in her skull. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would have thought it was from the ice-cold fear squeezing her chest like a vice. When the shaking stopped, she glanced to the window to see a plume of cinderous smoke staining the sky above the city. Oh _god_. 

“Dad?” She called as she crept out of his room, heart racing. “Daddy?”

Whatever uncle Eskel was talking about- something was happening in the city. Something real bad. She practically flew down the stairs, turning to make her way into the kitchen. Somewhere in the dark beyond the glass sliding door, a neighbor’s dog was barking up a storm. Poor little guy, wherever he was. Probably just as scared as she was. 

On the kitchen counter, her dad’s phone buzzed. Why’d he leave his phone behind and disappear? Marilka peered down at the lit-up screen. 

“Eight missed calls…” she narrated the notifications aloud. There were two texts beneath that, both from uncle Eskel. “Where the hell are you… call me… on my way?” Marilka murmured. She set the phone down, gripped the edge of the counter as she took in that information. Why’d uncle Eskel need to come over? Why wouldn’t he just say what was wrong?

The dog’s barks got louder and louder. She looked toward dad’s office- the glass door was ajar, slid open just an inch. Maybe he’d gone out for some reason…

“Dad?” She called softly again as she left the kitchen and approached the office. The dog’s barking cut off with a sudden yelp. Marilka’s breath caught in her throat, panic prying at her lungs. Forward she bravely pressed, closer and closer to the open door. 

As she was about to call out again, Geralt burst through the door, slamming it shut and darting for the desk. 

“There you are,” Marilka spoke, nervous as she approached where he was hunched over the desk, fumbling with a key to the top drawer. 

“Marilka, honey,” he looked over his shoulder. Amber eyes filled with fear. Marilka felt her stomach drop dangerously. “Are you okay? Has anyone come in here?”

“No,” she murmured, stepping closer and peering around at what he was rummaging through. “Why would anyone… come in here?”

He pulled out a black box, about the side of a flat shoebox. She’d never known what was kept in that drawer, let alone seen that box. He clicked the catches open and Marilka muffled a gasp. Why’d he have _that_ in the house? Why was he taking it out-

“Stay back there, baby- stay away from the door.” Geralt instructed. His attention turned back to the _gun_ he was pulling out of the box and hurriedly loading with shaking hands. Hands flecked with- oh, Jesus Christ that was _blood-_

Marilka nearly jumped out of her skin as a figure slammed against the glass door. It made a sickly crunching noise as it threw its body against the glass. Breathing hard and fast, Marilka froze as her dad cursed and put himself between her and the door. 

“Stay behind me, sweetheart,” he told her, voice getting louder and unbridled with terror. “You- stay back!” He shouted at the figure trying mindlessly to break its way in. Marilka clutched at the back of her dad’s blood-splattered shirt, backing up toward the kitchen slowly. Another sickening crack. The glass shattered in a cacophony of piercing crystalline. The thing burst inside, turning to face the two of them. 

“Oh my god…” Marilka murmured, her throat going completely dry, ice gripping her chest. It was a human. A man, with inhuman pallor skin tinged by green veins. Blood streaming from sunken eyes and dripping dark and half-clotted from his lips as he snarled at them. She got the horrible feeling it wasn’t his blood staining his teeth. 

“Stay back!” Geralt barked, raising the gun with one hand. Finger on the trigger. He was just sick- he didn’t need to _shoot-_ “Don’t!”

The man let out a ghastly cry and hurtled toward them, arms flailing and outstretched, weight tipped strangely off-center, his torso jutting forward like his spine had been snapped. Marilka couldn’t hear anything. There was a flash of light, a burning metallic scent in the air. Marilka pressed against Geralt’s back, trembling and letting out dry, rapid sobs, gasping for air.

“You- y-you shot him-” she whimpered as Geralt spun around, placed both hands on her shoulders. He was still holding the gun. She wanted to tear away- not to be near that deadly _thing-_ but she couldn’t move. She was glued in place by shock. “He… he just…”

“Marilka, baby, listen to me.” He met her eyes, shaking her softly to snap her out of her daze. “Something real bad is going on. We have to get out of here- do you hear me?” She did, but distantly. As if across a long hallway. 

“Yeah,” she managed, voice small. “Yeah.” He nodded, gripping her shoulders a little tighter. Blood smudged her shirt where he held her. She could only wonder if it was that man’s blood- or someone else. He’d come in covered in blood- _why was he covered in blood, who did he-_

Bright headlights shone in through the front windows, and Marilka winced, squeezing her eyes shut. Geralt just grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the door. 

“Eskel’s here. C’mon.”

Marilka didn’t really know what was happening anymore. She followed his pull blindly, into the freezing night air and climbed into Eskel’s old Jeep. Eskel and Geralt were talking in hushed, tense voices. Words shared that Marilka knew but couldn’t understand. Her head was somewhere far away as they drove off, staring blankly off at the burning city on the horizon. 

“They’re saying half the people in the city have lost their minds,” Eskel told her father, and Marilka looked up. “Some sort of parasite.”

“Like a flu?” She asked, sitting forward and holding the back of the seats. 

“Sorta like that,” Geralt murmured, fiddling with the radio. All he got was a light static. “Shit.”

“No cellphone, no radio…” Eskel huffed as he turned out of their neighborhood. “Yeah. We’re doing great. Minute ago the newsman wouldn’t shut up, then everything just went dark.”

“They say where to go?”

“Said uh- said the army was setting up roadblocks on the highway.”

“Army?” Marilka cut in as they came to a brief stop, Eskel glancing both ways down the street. 

“Fuck, take the 71-” Geralt directed, but Eskel was already turning. 

“71, yeah, I know Geralt.” A police car whizzed by, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing. Headed toward the city. “A whole bunch of people are getting sick. Going… going nuts, like feral fucking animals. Found this one family all mangled in their house-”

Geral pressed a hand on Eskel’s forearm. “Esk.” 

“Right.” He nodded, glancing back at Marilka. “Nothing to worry about, sweetie. We’re gettin’ out of here.” 

“Are we gonna die?” Marilka whispered, letting go of the front seats and curling up against one window. 

“No- no, of course not. Don’t say stuff like that.” Geralt reassured her, but his voice was anything but sure. Anything but calm. They sped down a narrow one-way road that went through a brief wooded off-road before emptying out on pavement again. Down the road a ways, a man stepped into the path of the car, waving his arms, calling out. 

Eskel cursed again and started to slow down. “Let’s see what they need,” he muttered, before Geralt cut in. 

“Fuck no- keep driving.” He hissed. 

“Geralt, they’ve got a _kid-_ ”

“So do we. keep driving.” 

And so they kept driving. As they passed the family, the man shouted frantically, flailing his arms above his head begging for Eskel to stop. Behind him, a mother, and their child, watched as they sped away. 

“Shoulda stopped.” Eskel muttered. 

“We’ve got our own fucking problems. Keep your eyes on the road.” 

“Stop backseat driving, Geralt, I’m stressed enough as is,”

“Wouldn’t be pestering you if you focused on getting us outta here-”

Marilka caught a glint of headlights out of the corner of her eye, turned to look and met the deadly stare of a truck rattling toward them, about to hit them broad-side- “Stop- stopstop!” She shouted, scrambling back on the seat, grabbing for Eskel’s shoulder- “STOP!”

She didn’t know if the sound of something shattering was from the windows, or someone’s bones. 

-

Ow. _Ow_. 

For half a breath of a second, before she opened her eyes, Marilka imagined she’d be at home. In her own bed, all tucked in. Maybe, just maybe, it was all a bad dream. Dad would be passed out downstairs, the TV still on- late for work- and then he’d call in sick and spend the morning making chocolate chip pancakes for them to share on the couch and watch shitty television till they got syrup stains on the leather. She’d tease him for sleeping in and he’d tell her to go wash up, and she’d giggle and chase him around the house with her syrup hands. He’d laugh, and smile, and she’d feel like a million bucks for earning that smile. 

Oh, her leg _really_ hurt. 

“Dad…” she murmured, sitting up in the wrecked backseat. The car had been overturned, flipped onto its side in the middle of the road. All was silent save for the crickets in the surrounding treeline and the cry of the totaled engine. Ahead of her, collapsed sideways on the window, Geralt lay unconscious. Marilka carefully crawled forward and nudged at his shoulder. “Daddy, wake up,”

He roused with a noise of panic, sitting up too fast and banging his head on the crushed and torn metal of the roof of the car. “Shit, shit- baby, are you okay?” He asked, twisting awkwardly to try and see her. 

“My leg hurts,” she whispered, keeping a hand on his shoulder. 

“Alright- fuck. We’re gonna be okay. Stay back.” He braced his hands on the roof and kicked hard at the front windshield. It was already spiderwebbed with cracks, and it took only two kicks for it to shatter. Marilka winced- crying out quietly and covering her ears. She hated that sound. Bones breaking, glass smashing. 

Next thing she knew Geralt was reaching through and taking her hand, helping her out and onto the road where she immediately felt a searing shock of pain shoot up from her calf and her knee buckled, nearly sending her to the ground- but Geralt grabbed her, kept her safe like he always did. Scooped her up, one arm under her knees and the other holding her against his chest. His long white hair was messy, tumbled over his shoulders and freckled with blood. She just buried her face in his chest and squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Go! Get her out of here!” Uncle Eskel shouted from somewhere nearby. Far in the distance, an ambulance siren was wailing. If only they were coming to help _her_. 

“I’m not leaving you, Esk-”

“ _Go,_ I’ll meet you at the highway! Cut through the forest, it’ll be safer, I promise!” And Geralt, who would do anything to keep his daughter safe, ran like hell. 

-

Geralt held his daughter to his chest, her head tucked into his shoulder so she couldn’t see the flames surrounding the city on the horizon, couldn’t see the terror on his face as he ran through the sparse trees that opened up into a patch of undeveloped land. She peered out, whispering a soft “ _Dad_?” as he trudged up a slope to find himself face-to-face with a blinding light right in his face.

“It’s okay baby, we’re safe.” He whispered to her, adjusting her in his arms and stepping closer toward the light. “Hey,” he called out, tentative. “We need help-”

“Stop!” Came the disembodied, rough voice of a young soldier through a heavy gas mask. The light lowered, and Geralt could now see the riot gear, the armor, the assault rifle pointed toward the ground with an attached light- the source of the spotlight that first caught them. “Stop right there. Don’t come any closer.”

Geralt froze, holding Marilka a little tighter. “We’re not sick.” He promised. _Pleaded_ . “It’s my daughter, I think her leg is broken, we need _help_.”

The soldier stared them down. Geralt could see no emotion behind the dark mask. The soldier shifted his rifle onto one shoulder and reached for something at his hip. Geralt, acting with panic, jerked back and turned, putting his side protectively between the girl in his arms and the man pulling something unidentified from his belt. 

“Got a pair of civilians in the outer perimeter.” The soldier barked into what Geralt now knew was a radio. “Please advise.”

“Daddy?” Marilka asked, picking her head up off of his shoulder and glancing at the soldier. “What about Uncle Eskel?”

“He’ll be alright.” Geralt promised her, a false and empty promise. He couldn’t know that, couldn’t know that Eskel wasn’t already dead. 

“Sir,” cut the soldier, voice loud in the dead silence of the night. “There’s a little girl.”

 _A little girl who needs help_ , Geralt wanted to scream at him. 

The soldier paused, and Geralt could hear Marilka’s soft breath. “But…” he murmured, leaning into the radio. “I understand. Yes sir.” The radio went back onto the belt. Then the assault rifle raised. Trapping Geralt and Marilka in his crosshairs like deer in headlights. Oh _fuck_. 

Time slowed to milliseconds. Geralt _couldn’t fucking move his feet_ . He was frozen, staring on in horror at the barrel of the rifle. Just as the man’s finger squeezed down, Geralt turned and _ran_.

A sharp _snap_ like metal smashing against metal. His feet tangled together and down he went- throwing Marilka as far away as he could- out of the way of the hellfire of bullets that rained down on them. 

Geralt tasted mud. 

Bitter.

Ringing. 

Another gunshot. 

Eskel.

 _Marilka_. 

-

Marilka felt a heavy pressure in her stomach, sort of like getting hit in the chest with the ball trying to protect the goal during soccer practice. One time she’d gotten hit in the head and passed out, and when she woke up, her dad was sitting right by her side. Never left her, not for an instant. 

It didn’t hurt, which was strange because Marilka got the feeling it _should_ hurt, the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Her shirt was all wet and sticky. Her head hit the ground hard when she fell, but it only ached dully. _Where was dad? Why wasn’t he sitting by her side? Why wasn’t he here?_

And then every single nerve in Marilka’s body exploded in shocking, gripping pain. It felt like glass shards digging through her flesh. Biting and tearing, pinching the skin and ripping it apart. _Oh_. She was dying.

A gunshot rang out and Marilka flinched hard, sending jolts of pain rocketing up from her stomach and into her abdomen, waiting for another pressure and another explosion of pain. It didn’t come. That gunshot wasn’t for her. 

“Oh _god_ ,” a distant voice whispered. Her ears rang too much to make out who it was. She let out a soft sob, curling in on herself like one of those pill bugs she and her dad collected outside on sunny days and put in jars full of dirt and twigs with holes poked through the lid. _She wanted her dad_. Marilka tried to call out for him, but all that came from her throat were pitiful whimpers of pain. She sounded like a dying animal. 

But Geralt would always keep her safe. And even as she tried so hard and failed to call out for him, she heard his voice, whispering her name brokenly as one arm slid under her shoulders, the other closing over her own two hands that were holding her stomach. Blood, sticky and warm flowed between her fingers. 

“Move your hands, baby,” he begged her softly, and she just sobbed and reached up for him. He was blurry, hidden beyond a veil of delicate light she couldn’t seem to stop slipping into. She made a wet, broken noise of desperation, trying to tell him, trying to say, 

_I love you daddy it hurts please I love you I love you it hurts so much_

“I know baby,” Geralt whispered and his hands pressed down on her stomach. She saw white. Pain ricocheted from her stomach up her body, down her arms and legs, like lighting a bunch of fireworks right inside her heart. Marilka wanted to _scream_ , but all that came out was a whimper. 

_I love you I love you I don’t wanna die daddy I don’t wanna die please don’t let me die I love you_

“I know it hurts, baby girl, please just- c’mon sweetheart,” Marilka closed a small hand around his upper arm and held as tight as she could. She was so afraid if she let go, she’d slip into that light completely. It would swallow her whole. Blinding white pain.

“I’m gonna pick you up, alright? Just hold on, baby, _please_ just hold on,” she tried to hold on. The pain was only getting stronger and stronger. Each time she was jostled it struck through her and she cried out. Her voice was getting so weak…

“Baby no- nono- _please-_ ”

Dad would always protect her. She could let go, and he’d keep her safe, right?

-

Geralt didn’t move. He sat there, holding his daughter’s still warm body, rocking and sobbing into her shoulder. Whispering her name over and over again, until his voice was raw and hoarse, until her blood had soaked so completely through her shirt and he couldn’t bear to look at her pale, pain-stricken face. Eyes still wide open. 

When Eskel fell to his knees beside him, placed one hand on his shoulder and stared down with glassy eyes, Geralt just cried harder. 

They didn’t even get to bury her. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning- Geralt break's someone's arm, Renfri shoots someone in the head, someone has a side injury but it is not described in detail

As soon as Geralt woke up, he very deeply wished he was asleep again. His entire being ached. His head was a mess, painfully tinged by headaches and the lingering displeasure one got after a particularly bad night terror. The light was fairly even as he sat up on the couch and peered at the shuddered window. Mid-day at most. Renfri should be back by now. And boy, did Geralt have  _ words _ for her. 

Someone was banging on his door and he had half a mind to shoot a 9mm round through the doorhole and go back to sleep.

“Geralt, open up.” 

There went that plan. She’d better have a damn good excuse for up and disappearing right before they had scheduled a drop together, taking her gun  _ and _ their drop supplies with her. They  _ didn’t _ go on drops alone. They established that after  _ Yennefer _ . 

Geralt was still too sore to discuss it in length, but Renfri already knew everything that happened. She had been there, been the one to make the call for Yennefer to split up from them when that deal went bad, meet back at the city. That was the last time they saw Yennefer. 

He got up. His back fucking  _ ached _ , he was getting old. He certainly looked the part, stress weighing endless wrinkles on his face.  _ Old fuck _ . 

He passed the half-empty bottle of Scotch sitting on his kitchen table. He hadn’t thought he’d drunk that much…

“How was  _ your _ morning?” Renfri greeted bitterly, shouldering past Geralt as if he  _ made _ her go off on her own like that. It made him burn with frustration. Wasn’t his fucking fault. Renfri grabbed his bottle, pouring a generous glass. Without asking. 

For all that they had between them in the past, he really couldn’t understand why they were still together. 

“Want one?” She offered. 

“No. I don’t want one. Where the fuck were you?” He snatched the bottle off the table so she couldn’t finish off what he had left. Stuff was more precious than gold. 

“West end.” Renfri shrugged, tossing the scotch back like it was nothing. She probably needed it. Roughed up, a painful looking scrape on her cheek and dirt smeared over her brow. Her hair was disheveled even tucked underneath her patterned bandana. She hadn’t gotten out of the west end easily. Geralt eyed her. “We had a drop to make, don’t look at me like that,” Renfri hissed, setting the cup down and pacing over to grab a cloth from the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,  _ we _ .” Geralt snapped and grabbed the cloth out of her hands, too aggressive than what was necessary. He took a shaky breath. Calmed himself as he went to Renfri’s side, dabbing carefully at her scrape. “Why’d you go out alone, Ren?” 

“You wanted to be left alone, remember?” She quipped, tilting her head to the side to let him work. 

“Let me guess, whole deal went south, client made off with the pills and left you beat. That about sum it up?”

Renfri shouldered Geralt away, cold. What did he do  _ wrong _ ? “Deal went off without a hitch. We’ve got enough ration cards to last us a month, easy. Don’t  _ doubt _ me, Geralt.”

It didn’t settle shit in Geralt’s angered, nervous gut. “Wanna explain this, then?” He asked, brows furrowing as he gestured to his own face. 

“Calm your ass down. Some guys jumped me on my way over. I handled myself, so you can lower your fucking hackles.” 

“If I were there-”

“You werent,” Renfri cut him off. “So let’s leave it there. I’m  _ fine _ .”

Geralt was not fine. 

Geralt was selfish, upset, angry, anxious- he didn’t wanna lose Renfri like he lost Yen. It wasn’t fair to her, to be a substitute. A second choice. But he wouldn’t be able to stand it if she disappeared, too. 

“Stregobor sent them.” Renfri said after a moment. That sent Geralt roiling again. If they were Stregobor’s men, and he’d  _ been _ there, maybe he could've gotten information out of them.

“Our Stregobor?” Geralt snarled. “Tell me again why the fuck you didn’t bring me along on this little outing?”

“Doesn’t matter, what matters is  _ I know where he’s hiding _ .” She tossed the rag down unceremoniously on the table, not breaking eye contact for a moment. 

“Like hell you do.”  
“I do.” 

Geralt didn’t believe it. Not for a second. And yet he trusted Renfri, enough to follow her anywhere. 

“Warehouse in Area 5. We need to go soon, I don’t know how long he’ll be there,” Renfri continued. “Geralt, this is our  _ shot _ .”

“Not gonna go off alone?” Geralt shot, all too bitter. “Get beat up again, lose our guns and our chance to get Stregobor back?” 

Renfri’s brow crinkled, lip twitching. They were terrible for one another, really. Knew how to push all the wrong buttons. “You ever gonna forget about this?”

“No.”

“Fuck you, Geralt.”

-

The federal-controlled quarantine zone of Boston was a sad shitshow. Most buildings were boarded up and then locked off, poor fucks loitering in the streets by spilling dumpsters and rusty gates that closed in every alleyway and passage. It didn’t get much better as Renfri and Geralt delved deeper. The stink of urine and sweat sunk into every earth-taken sidewalk, every plastered poster peeling off the exposed brick walls reminding citizens to wash their hands, stay inside, and listen to their local militia. Some woman in a baggy sweatshirt leered out from behind one of the gates, holding out a tight knuckled fist full of ration cards, rasping something about trading pills for her wares. Geralt avoided her outstretched hand and kept walking behind Renfri. 

They reached the South 5 checkpoint in no time. It always made Geralt’s stomach churn, walking up to the carefully guarded gates. 

“Play it cool,” Renfri reminded him as she handed him his ID slip. He held it a little too tightly, and the soft paper crinkled and creased.

The FEDRA militia man at the gate reached out for their papers. The Federal Disaster Response Agency established control soon after the initial outbreak, securing cities under heavy military lockdown. They were the reason Geralt and Ren made their business smuggling. They were also the reason some semblance of society was left, however crude and broken it was. Renfri handed over hers first, chatting idly with the guard. She was so much better at lying than he ever was. She and Yen were both good at that, charming and manipulating with words alone. Geralt preferred using guns. 

He should have known it was just too easy like this.

Just beyond the gates, a military truck went up in flames with an earth-shaking boom. Geralt stumbled back, and Renfri didn’t have time to grab her ID before the gate was being slammed shut and bullet fire filled the air. 

“Goddamnit!” She shouted, grabbing at Geralt’s forearm and tugging him away from the checkpoint. “Fucking  _ Fireflies _ ,”

The anti-FEDRA revolutionary faction fought tirelessly against the police state control over major cities such as Boston, advocating to reinstate the old Government and institute a better quality of life for those trapped in the quarantine zones. If Geralt had been a better person, in a different life, maybe he’d be one of them. 

But in this life, he didn’t give a shit about police and military rule, quarantine zone cities and the Federal Disaster Response Agency. This was just how it was, how it would be, how it would one day end. The best he could do was get by day to day. 

They ran past the commotion, the yelling and shooting and calamity of another Firefly attack. It happened so often, it felt like nothing new anymore. The Fireflies weren’t making any progress in their fight for freedom, that was for sure. Rumor had it they were the only ones left looking for a cure, as well. Whole lotta good that was doing them. 

Renfri guided him firmly, making a sharp turn into a tenement building before releasing his forearm and letting out a ragged breath. 

“Fuck.” She huffed.

“Fuck,” Geralt agreed. 

“Guess we’re going the hard way, then.” 

-

The hard way, it turned out, meant  _ outside the wall _ . Through a disgusting and dank passage rotted into the wall of one of Renfri’s men’s apartments, into a passage lit by a noisy generator and then finally climbing up into an overgrown cafe just a mile off of Area 5. Would have been quicker if they went through the fucking checkpoint. 

Along the way Renfri stopped them to stock up on gear hidden away- Geralt’s backpack and revolver, his gas mask already packed. Now they were  _ really _ ready to raise some hell. 

Stregobor had always been a shady bastard. Slippery, too, hard to catch. But they’d get those damn guns, the one Stregobor owed them and had disappeared off the grid before the deal went down. A con he’d soon pay for. 

“Geez,” Geralt muttered as they stepped into the greenery. “Don’t get out here much. It’s changed.”

“Tch, yeah, it’s like we’re on a date.” Renfri smirked back at him, leading the way. 

“Well, I am the romantic type.”

“You’ve got your ways.”

Maybe with Yen. With Renfri, it was like a maze. 

“C’mon, pick up the pace.” She coaxed. “The warehouses aren’t far now.”

-

Stregobor wasn’t just a con man, a liar, and a son of a bitch- he was also a damn coward. It barely took any chase before he gave up, dropping his gun and putting his hands up when Renfri and Geralt managed to corner him. The men he’d hired as glorified bodyguards put up a good fight, but Geralt and Renfri had the much favored element of surprise. It was easy as pie. Which- god damn- Geralt missed. He could really use a slice of pie right about now. 

“Renfri, Geralt,” the old man tried tentatively, stepping forward with his hands falling back to his sides. “No hard feelings, right?”

“Oh no, none at all,” Renfri hummed, a dark glint in her eyes as she stepped forward, stooping to grab a discarded pipe from the ground. “You wanna tell us ‘bout the guns you owe us?”

Stregobor’s beady eyes went wide with terror. “It’s a… complicated matter, if you’ll just hear me out…”

Geralt didn’t give the fucker a chance to run his mouth. He paced up to him, one hand on his shoulder as he brought a knee into the old man’s stomach. He doubled over, falling flat on the concrete. Geralt squared a boot between his shoulder blades. 

“Don’t seem that complicated to me,” Renfri went on, stepping closer till she could tap the pipe on the ground within inches from Stregobor’s face. “You owe us the guns, so pay up. Unless you, I dunno, skimped out on our deal? Sold them to someone else? Cause that’d- whoo- that’d be a real shame for you.”

Geralt’s boot pressed down- he could almost imagine the satisfying crunch of bone. Beneath him, the man winced.

“We can  _ talk _ about this,” he said meekly, and Geralt lost his patience. He dropped down to kneel over Stregobor, grabbing his upper arm and pinning him down with another hand on his wrist. Twisting just enough to hurt, just enough to warn.

“Yeah, you  _ better _ start talking.” Geralt rumbled.

“Listen- I sold them!” He cried suddenly, not daring to try and fight Geralt’s iron grip. “I owed someone-”

“You owed  _ us _ ,” Renfri hummed. She knelt as well, peering at the man, head tilted. Her eyes glinted, a dark and frightening look. “I’d say you bet on the wrong horse. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“A week- give me a week!” The old man pleaded. Renfri nodded her head idly, dark curls slipping out of her bandana. 

“You know?” She began. “I might’ve done that if you hadn’t tried to fucking kill me. Go ahead, Geralt.”

With a sick curl of violence- a need to  _ break- _ Geralt lifted Stregobor’s arm and snapped  _ down _ . The sounds he made would have been haunting, if it wasn’t Stregobor who he’d just broken the arm of. 

“Who’d you sell the guns to?” Renfri asked, voice cool. 

“The Fireflies!” Stregobor grunted out between his sniveling and whimpering. “I owed Mousesack.”

Renfri smiled, but it was just in her lips. Her eyes didn’t smile. She stood up, dropping the pipe on the ground. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” In the blink of an eye she had pulled her handgun, shot Stregobor dead- two bullets in the head. Overkill. 

“Shit.” Geralt muttered, standing up and wiping a splatter of blood off his cheek with the back of one hand. “Coulda let me stand up ‘fore you shot him.”

“Yeah- whatever. Blood suits you.”

“That’s not how you flirt.”

“It is now.”

Geralt huffed and picked over Stregobor’s body, grabbing the empty revolver he’d tried to kill Ren and himself with while he was running and shoving it in his waistband. “What now?” He asked, standing up.

“Meet with the Fireflies. Explain what happened, maybe offer some sorta trade-” It was reasonable enough, given Renfri didn’t lose her cool- but they were interrupted before they had a chance to discuss the plan. 

“I may be able to help with that,” A familiarly smooth voice plagued by pain uttered as Mousesack emerged from the opposite alleyway, limping awkwardly with a hand clutched to his bleeding side. 

“There you go, Ren.” Geralt gestured toward him. “King Firefly.”

“Mousesack.” Renfri holstered her pistol, standing in front of Stregobor’s body, boots in the pool of blood steadily growing out from his blown-out face. “What are you doing here?”

“Business.” The man grunted. “Where’s Stregobor?”

With a feral grin, Renfri stepped aside, leaving sticky tracks of blood. “Convenient. We’re here for business too.”

Mousesack let out a heavy sigh and gripped his injured side harder. “I did need him  _ alive _ , Renfri.”

“His life doesn’t mean shit, now. The guns he gave you?” Renfri stepped forward. “Weren’t his to give. He sold them to us. Need them back now.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Renfri.”

Her feral look turned into a snarl. “The hell it doesn’t. We gonna have to fight you for them? Cause I’ll tell you, you aren’t looking so hot, Mousesack.” 

“Earn them, then.” He shot back, leaning now against the brick wall. The look in his eyes- desperate. Begging, not bargaining. “I have cargo to smuggle out of the city. We all know you two are the best in town. Do this for me, and the guns are yours- and then some, even. And you’ll have my sworn guarantee that the Fireflies will stay off your back.”

Renfri spared a glance at Geralt, who was staring quizzically at Mousesack. Considering, deep in thought. He breathed in, shoulders rising and then sagging as he stepped closer. “And how do we know you got ‘em?” He asked. “Way I hear it, military’s been wiping you guys out.”

“You’d be right about that.” Mousesack muttered back bitterly. “Listen- I’ll bring you to the guns, and the cargo. But we have to  _ move _ .” In the distance- voices sounded in panic. “Are you  _ in _ ?”

Geralt was stepping forward before either said a thing, and like clockwork, Renfri was right at his heels. 

“We’re in.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta'd... I am illicherite

They travelled by rooftop. The streets were crawling with FEDRA militia, and getting caught past curfew, without proper identifications, stocked with guns- it was basically a firing wall sentence. The tension in Boston was the highest it had ever been. Civilians were torn from their apartments and thrown onto the streets daily, held on their knees with shaking hands behind their heads as soldiers checked them for viral infection with black handheld machines. Geralt affectionately called them barcode scanners. Renfri laughed, she always laughed at his dumb jokes, but she never meant it. She had a hollow sort of laugh, the kind of laugh someone had when they had a sore throat and didn’t  _ really _ want to laugh, but were doing so out of social necessity. Geralt felt often a lot of the things Renfri did were of necessity, and not based in emotion. 

“Geralt, help me with the door,” Mousesack directed, and Geralt’s attention snapped over to where the Firefly leader was struggling with a heavy sliding door, the wound at his side dripping fresh blood onto the linoleum floor. 

“Yeah, I got it,” he grunted, stepping forward to give the door a heavy tug. It came free with a metallic creak, and a breathless huff of pain from Mousesack as his knees buckled and he fell forward into the room. “Shit- come on, now-” Geralt gripped the man under the shoulder and hoisted him up, only for a flash of silver hair to show up right in front of him, waving a knife threateningly. Or, it would be threatening, if the girl now slashing at Geralt was any taller than five feet at the most. 

“Get the fuck away from him!” The girl shouted, fire brimming in her eyes before Renfri slipped in behind Geralt and snatched her wrist, immobilizing her easily even as the girl snarled and snapped like a wild animal trying to free her hand. 

“Let her go,” Mousesack gritted, leaning full-bodied on Geralt now. “Cirilla, stop it. These people are not the enemy.”

“Recruiting kinda young, don’t you think?” Geralt shook Mousesack, causing the man to curse. Geralt’s dad instincts kicked in for a bare moment.  _ Don’t curse ‘round Marilka _ . 

“She’s not a recruit, she’s cargo.” Mousesack responded, finally letting go of Geralt and limping over to a table to lean back on as the girl- Cirilla- rushed over. 

“What happened? Who are they?” She hissed, a lot less secretive than she thought. 

“It’s just a bullet wound. It’s fixable. They- they’re going to help us.”

Cirilla glanced at Geralt and Renfri, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder, defensive of one another. “They don’t look like help. They look like  _ danger _ .” Renfri scoffed, Geralt rolled his eyes at her. 

“Now hold up,” Geralt cut in, stepping forward. “We’re smuggling a  _ child _ ? You didn’t exactly make that part of the deal clear. What happens to our guns if she gets herself killed? Gets one of  _ us _ killed?”

The girl turned on him in an instant, an accusatory finger pointing directly at him. “I haven’t gotten killed yet, old man, but I can’t say the same for you if you hurt Mousesack.” Jesus Christ, the kid was insane. 

“ _ Ciri _ .” Mousesack snapped, stern, commanding attention. Geralt found himself quiet and watching, too. Weird how that worked not just on kids. Geralt had plenty of experience with the  _ dad voice _ . Like when Marilka would insist on staying up another fifteen minutes, when she wouldn’t get off her phone when he was trying to ask her about school. The man felt a heavy pang, head swinging down and away so he didn’t have to look at Mousesack. Reminded him too much of himself.

Or, something like that. 

“I need her delivered safely to the Capitol Building. There will be a group of Fireflies there to take her off your hands, but there are not enough of us left  _ alive _ to make the run there safely. You two are the best I know. I  _ need _ this.”

“And the guns? I wanna see them.” Renfri demanded. Mousesack looked hesitant, and Geralt swore the next time someone tricked them out of these guns he was breaking a jaw. 

“They’re at our camp.”

Renfri gave a look that told Geralt she felt the exact same. 

“I want to _see_ them.” She growled.   
“And you will. You’ll come with me to our camp, see the guns- get me patched up. Geralt will take Ciri and meet you back at the safehouse by the North Tunnel.” Mousesack told them. Immediately, Geralt and Ciri were both speaking up. 

“ _Bullshit_ , I’m not going with him-”  
“Woah, no- I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

-

It would have been fine if it were him and Renfri dealing with the kid. He could stay away from the emotional shit, let her handle whatever trauma this girl was surely going through and distance himself as much as possible till they reached the Capitol building. It just wasn’t his fucking day. 

“So, you smuggle things through this tunnel right?” Ciri asked, kicking a bottle and watching it roll down a flight of stairs and then break somewhere near the ground floor. 

“Yes. Hurry up.” 

“Like, illegal things?” She asked, jogging forward to catch up as they stepped into a connecting hallway between buildings, all the windows smashed out. 

“Sometimes.”

“You ever smuggle a kid before?” Ciri pestered. 

“Nope.”

“What about like, drugs?”

“Yep.”

“Guns?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god, comic books?”

Geralt stopped in his tracks, glared over his shoulder. “How old are you, twelve?” 

“Fourteen.” Ciri snapped, looking offended. “Not like that has anything to do with anything.”

Geralt shrugged his shoulders and kept walking. “You’re right. Don’t got nothing to do with the job.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“No.”

“You’re supposed to say- ‘about what’?”

A huff. “About what?”

“Why you’re smuggling me.”

Another pause. Right in front of the door to the safehouse. “Couldn’t give two shits about you, kid.”

Geralt tried to get some sleep till Renfri and Mousesack got back. There was a ratty old couch in the safehouse he claimed, tossing his back near the window and kicking his feet up on the arm of the thing. He got about a couple minutes of silence before Ciri started talking. He grunted, turned, and shoved his face into the cushion. 

The next time he woke up, it was to pounding rain on the window, gentle humming in the room, and Marilka’s face flashing behind his eyes.

“What were you dreamin’ about?” Ciri asked. “Must have been something interesting. You talk a lot in your sleep.”

Geralt groaned as he sat up. Everything was way too fucking sore. “Nothing good.” 

“I hate bad dreams,” Ciri told him. She was curled up in an armchair she’d hauled over to the window. Every so often the searchlights from the city flashed over their building, briefly blinding the both of them before opening up to a dark rainstorm sky again.

“Me too.” Geralt sighed. Ciri’s hair was long and loose like his was before a runner grabbed a handful of it on a hunt with Eskel and as soon as they were back home they sheared off his hair till it was the same length as his brother’s. Ciri’s was pale, like his, pale as milk. “You got a hair tie?” He asked. 

“You gonna make me put my hair up? You’re not my  _ mom _ .” Ciri shot over her shoulder. Geralt grunted and stripped a loose swatch of fabric off of the armchair. Nobody was gonna miss it. He tore it into a thin strip and moved behind the chair, gathering Ciri’s long white hair up into a ponytail. Marilka always wore it in buns. 

“You should really cut it.” He muttered, turning away. “It’s easy to grab when it’s long.”

The door opened. He and Ciri nearly jumped out of their skins when Renfri stepped in, soaking wet from the rain.

“Hey. Sorry it took so long.” She ushered Geralt and Ciri toward the door. “Left Mousesack at their camp. And Geralt-” She caught him with a hand on his upper arm. “I saw the merchandise. The  _ guns _ . It’s a lot.”

“So we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

-

Geralt could hear the patrol a good ways away, see the flash of headlights cutting through rain turned to sleet. If they were fast, if they were careful, they’d bypass the patrol completely and be able to traverse by the surface instead of retreating to the sewers as was their backup plan. 

“Through the shipping container, there,” Geralt hissed and took up the lead, one hand gripping his revolver though it stayed strapped into his holster. He took the lead as he climbed through the overturned intermodal, stepping through to the other side and glancing around like cornered prey. Something was wrong. 

“Geralt!” Ciri cried, and the butt of an assault rifle smacked into his temple, sending him crashing to the ground and scrambling in the mud. 

“On your knees.” The warbled, modulated voice of a soldier through a gas mask came. Hollow and without person. They weren’t real when they wore their masks. They were de-personified shells, FEDRA pawns. Geralt got up, knees digging into the mud and head throbbing. To his left, Ciri was kneeling with her hands up, biting her lip and glancing up at the devices one of the soldiers (Geralt could now see two of them) was holding out. Renfri was on his right, spitting at the soldier’s feet as he pressed the device to her neck. It came away with a beep and a green flash. 

“I’ll call them in,” the other soldier muttered. “Make sure they’re clean.”

Geralt next. The metal probe part of the device pressed against his neck, and then there was a beep and a flash, and the soldier was moving on to Ciri. 

The poor girl looked absolutely terrified. Geralt wanted to coo softly, reassure her and tell her they had this handled. They  _ didn’t _ . 

The device pressed against her neck. “I’m sorry,” the girl whispered, and then there was a flash of motion. She yanked a knife out of the holster strapped to her calf and drove it into the soldier’s thigh.

Renfri and Geralt flew into action. Geralt took no time dispatching the one holding the scanner by grabbing the pistol out of their own hand and shoving it up under their armored mask, discharging a deadly shot. The shock of their partner being taken down left the second soldier frozen, and with a feral snarl Renfri leapt up and barreled shoulder-first into their chest, knocking them into the mud and snatching the rifle from their hands. She caved their face in with the butt of it, and the crack of their glass mask was drowned out by the crack of their skull. 

“Oh, fuck!” Ciri shuddered, holding her arms around herself, knife dripping blood. “I thought- I thought we were just gonna hold them up or something- but you- you fucking  _ killed _ them!”

“Be quiet.” Geralt grunted, shoving the soldier’s pistol in his waistband. Guns were precious as fucking diamonds out here. “And get up. That gunshot’s either gonna attract runners or soldiers, and we don’t wanna be around for either.”

Renfri picked over the body she’d taken down, then over to the scanner. In the rain, in the darkness, the red light blinking  _ infected _ over the screen was impossible to miss. 

“Oh shit.”

Two pairs of eyes turned on Ciri. 

“What the fuck?” Renfri snarled. “Mousesack has us smuggling an infected girl?” She directed the last bit at Ciri, who was still kneeling helplessly in the mud. 

“I’m not!” She cried, hugging herself a little tighter. “I’m not infected.”

“So what, is this lying?” Renfri tossed the scanner down. It splashed in a puddle beside Ciri. “We don’t have any fucking time for this. Jesus christ.” She pulled out her handgun, aiming it at the air beside Ciri’s head. Geralt gave an uneasy rumble, hand shooting out to stop Renfri, and then pausing. 

“Wait- I’m  _ not _ !” Ciri scrambled to pull up her sleeve, thrusting her forearm forward. Sunk into the pale flesh, a horrible knotted scar shaped like two crescents lay colored an angry pink. It was almost like the skin had begun to boil and bubble with the virus, only to stop frozen in that sickening wounded form. “Look!”

“I don’t care how you got infected.” Geralt snapped.

“It’s not- listen!” Ciri scrambled to her feet, still holding her arm out, and Renfri startled. If not for Geralt’s hand shooting out and grabbing her wrist, he feared she might have shot Ciri. “It’s three weeks old!”

“Bullshit.” Renfri ripped her hand out of Geralt’s hold and the sights of the gun swung dangerously close to centering on Ciri’s forehead. “Everyone who gets bit turns within two days so you stop  _ lying _ .”

“I’m not!” Ciri insisted. “It’s three weeks. Why would Mousesack set you up?”

Geralt cursed and turned away from the two of them. He didn’t believe it for an instant. There was no denying the scar was healed over, but he couldn’t-  _ nobody _ survived getting bit. Nobody. Let alone fucking kids. Kids just died, they just did. He couldn’t save them. Just over the rubble ahead, a harrowing wail echoed. 

“Shit, runners!” Geralt hissed, turning back only to find Renfri already on her feet with the gun pointed toward the sound. Ciri was frozen, arm still held out, eyes wide. 

“Oh, fuck,” the girl murmured, and Geralt ran forward, shielding her with his broad body and clapping both hands down on her ears as Renfri’s handgun shot once- twice- a third time.

There were only two of the ugly fuckers, bordering on decay with strips of flesh hanging from their sickly yellow bodies. Fungus sprouted from their open wounds, flowering and blooming with viral spores. The slang name for them, runners, was pretty damn accurate. Those things hunted viciously. They ran at Renfri with spittle and blood flying from their rotten teeth, and she loosed three rounds into their soft skulls before they were down and twitching. 

“It’s alright, It’s clear,” she said, and Geralt hesitantly unwrapped himself from Ciri. “We don’t have time for this. More are gonna be on their way.” Renfri holstered her handgun and gripped Ciri’s upper arm, gentler than Geralt, and began to guide her through the rain, Geralt at their heels, guarding their backs. 

Another cry. It was raspy, hollow, and sent shivers down all three’s spines. The sound of running feet splashing through mud. And then a sound that had the hair on the back of Geralt’s neck standing up. Clicking. 

_ Click click click _ .

“Run!” Geralt hissed, shoving Renfri and Ciri forward where the land had collapsed over a rusted sewer drain, leaving a large waterway connecting off to a dozen smaller passages. Easy to hide in, easy to get lost in. “Into the sewer, go, go!”

-

They’d been running in the dark, waist-deep in suspiciously murky water that smelled worse than the piss-stained alleyways in Boston. As soon as Geralt deemed them out of harm’s way he stopped running, heaving, and the three of them paused.

“What now?” Renfri asked, after a moment of silence. “This isn’t a conversation we can put off any more.”

“Something touched my leg!” Ciri announced, and bolted over to the edge of the waterway, clutching the wall. 

“Yeah, you don’t wanna know what’s in this water, kid.” Geralt muttered. “Just try and ignore it. And breath through your mouth.”

“No, really,” Ciri’s voice was bordering on panicked. “Something’s in here, with us. I don’t like this, oh fuck, I really don’t like this.”

Renfri and Geralt shared an exasperated look. “Listen,” Renfri started pacing toward her, sloshing through the water. “There’s nothing here. Runners can’t fucking swim.”

“Neither can I, and I’m still here!” Ciri shot back. “Can we- can we please keep moving? I don’t wanna die in a shit tunnel!”

“So we’re just gonna glaze over the fact that you’re  _ infected _ ?” Renfri stepped closer, and Ciri started to shrink back nervously. “I still don’t trust you, and I sure as hell don’t trust that bite on your fucking arm-” 

Something yanked Renfri down, and with a splash of muddy grey water and a short-lived cry she was under the water. Geralt dove forward, heart racing as he gulped in a breath and went under the waist-high water, waving his arms around wildly until he grabbed onto something. It grabbed him back. The runner under the water had both hands grappling with him, jaws snapping dangerously close to his exposed neck. Geralt kicked and writhed, choking as water flooded his lungs. His lungs screamed, his entire chest giving out as he breathed in more and more sewer water. Then the weight on top of him went dead still. 

It was Renfri’s hands that grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him above water, a coughing sputtering soaked mess. She smacked his back once, harsh, and Geralt reeled as he vomited water. 

“Geralt?” Ciri was standing between the runner’s body and them, clutching her knife and glancing fearfully between the two of them and down the waterway. 

“I’m alright, fuck,” Geralt rasped, lifting his head up. The runner’s bloodied body floated face-down in the top layer of grime in the water. Lodged in its neck, the unmistakable fletching of an arrow. Renfri didn’t carry a bow.

He swung his head, facing down the waterway where now both Ciri and Renfri were staring in a mix of muted fear and aggression.

Standing several yards away with water up to his hips, a man stood holding a clearly handmade longbow at his side. One hand hovered over his shoulder, inches from grabbing and notching another arrow. His hair was deep brown, messy and stringy with mud over his forehead. He had a shallow gash over his cheek, but no visible bites or infection. His eyes, a vibrant blue that rivaled Ciri’s bright green. And instead of a backpack, he had an honest-to-god guitar strapped to his back. Who the fuck  _ was _ this guy?

“That was a lucky shot,” the man uttered, his voice bouncing against the curved stone walls of the waterway. “Uh- pleasure meeting you?”

Geralt blinked. “Who the fuck are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JASKIER!


End file.
